


too hurt

by the_forgotten_daydreamer



Series: DC Comics [2]
Category: Batfamily - Fandom, DC Comics, Red Hood and the Outlaws
Genre: Alfred is a skilled doctor, Blood and Injury, Concussed Jason, Concussions, Faiting, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason has a concussion, Jason-Centric, Medic Alfred, Nosebleed, Passing Out, Sick Fic, Swearing, Worried Bruce Wayne, caring!bruce, hurt!jason, injured!Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_forgotten_daydreamer/pseuds/the_forgotten_daydreamer
Summary: Jason's just too hurt, mentally and physically, to deal with his father. Bruce deeply cares for his beloved son, and saves him just in time.-fixed on 8/07/2020





	too hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own DC Comics nor its characters

Jason entered the cave quietly, not willing to fight again due to the late hour, ghostly steps on the grey tiles. As he was busy removing his heavy and dirty boots and socks, fingers shaky as he attempted to undo his laces, the vertigo spell he'd been under since the incident in the afternoon suddenly stronger, forcing him to lean of the wall, sliding down on the floor with a soft thud. Jason drew his knees up and forced his head between them, inhaling and exhaling, trying to regain his composure before someone could see him in that state.

_Breathe, Jason. You're okay, you're fine. Just peachy. Now breathe._

The boy started massaging his temples, carefully attempting to soothe the pain. Earlier, he had gotten rid of some criminals who'd been bugging some students: at first, Jason had thought that the situation was fully under control. Until one of them had managed to hit him in the back of the head, the cracking sound of the skull still echoing in his mind, blow knocking him onto the pavement in the process as he dropped down in a heap. By the time he'd managed to come around again, the criminals had left, and all he opted to go back home for the night.

Jason cursed under his breath, recalling those events. After a couple of minutes spent on the floor, the young man set his weapons in the apposite locker, and immediately made his way to his bedroom, ready to pop some pills and take a long, long nap.

Dragging his heavy limbs, Jason approached his room's door, the sight heavenly as he already imagined himself propped on the soft, warm mattress. As he was just about to open the door, a familiar pattern of footsteps made him stop dead on his tracks, and he clicked his tongue.

_Bruce. Fuck._

He tried to ignore him, but before Jason knew it, Bruce started screaming loudly, making him flinch. The younger man sighed, resigned, feeling too faint to start another fight. He was spent, and for the first time in his life he didn't actually want to waste his time explaining his reasons. He was too hurt, too tired, too out of it for that, now.

"_Where_ have you been?" Bruce asked, furious, voice low and deep, ice gaze penetrating Jason's soul.

"To the pub." the other answered tentatively. Bruce didn't take the bait, of course.

The billionaire's red-rimmed eyes stared at Jason's, as if he was looking at his soul. "I have my informers, you know? Jason, you had no right to almost kill those men. They're lucky they escaped, or they'd be dead by now. We talked about this a hundred times, son. Going on a killing spree won't cleanse Gotham from its dirt." Bruce hissed through gritted teeth, pinching his arched nose.

The younger man rolled his now dull, teal eyes, tired of being forced to discuss the same matter, over and over. "Do you consider them 'men'? Well, I don't. They're monsters who deserve to pay." he stopped, as his voice was way too loud for his liking. Everything spun too quickly, but Jason hid the wince that escaped his quivering lips, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "It's late, Bruce. Let me rest."

"No, we're not finished, Jason. This anger you have, you can't just take it out on people, even if they are criminals. You seem to be living for mindless violence."

"Oh, 'mindless'? What, are you stupid?" Jason asked, incredulous. "Those fuckers have taken advantage of little kids to run their drug business- kids as little as ten years old. For fuck's sake, you can't serioulsy be okay with this." he sighed, nauseous and not only at the thought of the Gotham mob using kids as informers and pushers. 

"They forced the kids to collaborate with the Gotham Cartel. The Gotham Cartel, Bruce. At ten years old. No, just- no. Fuck this shit... If you can't handle the burden of gettin' rid of these bitches, I will." Jason continued, losing his already flebile temper, tone noticeably dying down, unlike his pounding, incessant headache. He felt like puking, now.

"I never said that I condone their actions and behaviours, you know I don't-" and he didn't, Jason knew that too, "-but that's what jail's for." Bruce's speech was violently interrupted by Jason's mocking laughter.

"Sending these criminals to jail won't fix shit." he snorted, shaking his head.

Bruce sighed heavily, crossing his strong arms as he eyed his son in what Jason interpreted as a mixture of hate and profound disappointment. "Jason, listen to me-"

"No. They _always_ do awful things and I'm tired of that. Listen, I'm an adult, so I'm entirely responsible for my own actions," Jason stated "so do me a favor and shut the hell up. I... I need to rest. Let me be, okay? Go check on Tim or some shit. Whatever. Just leave."

"I'm worried about you, because I haven't seen you at the table with us for weeks, your bed's been barely even touched, and I perfectly know that you come back home late every single night, only to disappear again as soon as the sun rises. Jason, you are _my_ son, _my_ responsibility, and-"

"Sure, play the 'misunderstood dad' card, now." Jason shrugged, interrupting the billionaire. He inhaled shakily, vision tunneling, and tried to hide how weak he felt. "It's almost 4am, don't you have anywhere else to be? Mh!?"

"My place is here, taking care of my family, and that includes you, Jason." Bruce deadpanned.

"Well, you could've left me in that street where you found me if you didn't want another responsibility! I bet..." Jason began, shakingly drying the sweat on his forehead "I bet you're regretting having adopted me now that I don't obey anymore. But- but it's none of my business. If you'd made the right choice, you wouldn't be dealing with my shit now, but it's your fault, entirely." he retorted, gaze glassy. Anger and agony blinded him, made his thoughts scramble and mix up, scattered and unclear. Now, Jason really, really felt like he was going to get sick.

"Jason, listen carefully. I will never approve your methods-" Bruce started.

"Yeah, I know, no need to tell me that again." he added, almost whispering.

"-but..." his expression softened, either because he was giving up on the boy, or because he really meant it. Jason couldn't really tell, he couldn't see his father's facial feauters well. "I never did, and never will regret my choice. I have never, ever hesitated, never felt like I did the wrong choice when I asked you to join me. I love you, son, I do. This is why I want you to be safe, and careful." Bruce concluded.

Jason blushed slightly, as his thin lips quivered into a small, shy smile, because he just couldn't help being happy because someone- his family- loved him. He was human, after all, or what was left of one. Only now, that things were somewhat calmer than before, the boy noticed that the faint ringing in his ears had gotten noticeably louder during the fight.

"Look, I'm so fuckin' sorry for yelling at ya," Jason slurred, massaging his forehead with unsteady hands, "I just wanna sleep-"

“Your- your nose is bleeding.” Bruce interrupted him, starling the boy who was already drifting out of conciousness, "Are you okay? Is it the dry air? Did you cut yourself? Let me see-” he fretted, his tone firm yet worried.

Jason nonchalantly looked down at his chin, now dirtied in dark, thick blood, just like the persian carpet below his bare feet, avoiding Bruce's hand as it came towards his ashen face, seemingly in slow motion. Before Jason could muster enough strength to reply anything, black dots started to dance across his fuzzy and clouded vision, distant.

Jason blinked a couple of times, cursing under his breath. He saw Bruce's lips moving, but didn't hear any sound coming out of them. The younger man could absolutely tell that he was, in fact, about to pass out: the familiar sensation of darkness claiming him, calling his name, wanting the boy to join it.

_So I did get hit... Well, shit._

The vigilante tried to warn his father, because he knew well that he may have hurt himself worse with the fall, but didn't even hear himself due to the loud, deafening ringing in his ears. Color quickly drained from Jason’s already pale face, and before he could at least lean on the wall, his trembling legs gave out mercilessly. He didn't even register he was falling, _falling falling falling falling-_

Bruce shot forward to catch his unconcious son, grabbing him from under his now sweaty armpits as soon as he began to fall.

“Jason?" the man called, panicked, "Jason, can you hear me?” he tried again, easing the boy on the floor. He then shook him firmly, and pinched him on the arm, hoping to get some sort of reaction from his son. “Jay, are you with me? Jason, come on, buddy." Bruce pleaded again, hoping to get an answer this time. He didn't. The billionaire immediately checked his son’s pulse, frantic, scared not to find it

_How long has it been since he's eaten? _ _Did he sleep last night? _ _Or... Was he injured before our fight?_

After a couple of seconds of pure agony and terror, the older man heard it. A faint, erratic heartbeat, but it was there. The man turned Jason’s head on the side so that he wouldn’t swallow the blood pouring out from his nose- though it had almost stopped now- and tilted his dirty chin back, to help the boy breathe easily. That's when he noticed something sticky dripping down the back of his son's neck. Blood.

Bruce frantically searched for an injury, feather-light fingertips brushing against the scalp, trying to identify the source of the blood. And he found it. An ugly, seemingly deep gash, just on Jason's nape.

Bruce proceeded to call for Alfred, shouting his lungs out to be heard from the other side of the huge manor. He could've entered his son's room to use the private line, but he had no intention of leaving his boy's side. The old butler arrived less than a minute later, alarmed, but not fanned- the man was very in shape for his age.

“What happened to the poor lad?” Alfred asked, crouching next to his fainted grandson, smoothing his damp bangs back, out of the forehead drenched in sweat.

“His nose started bleeding, and less than half a minute later he passed out. He hasn’t come around yet.” Bruce explained methodically. "I caught him before he could hit the floor, too."

Alfred hummed, pondering. “He’s sweating quite intensely, but I don’t think the boy’s running a fever. Did he get injured while patrolling?"

Bruce sighed, taken aback. "I have no idea. I think so, but I haven't even..." the words died on his tongue. He paused after that, trying to gather his thoughts, remorse churning his guts uncontrollably.

"Let's not fret." Alfred instructed, quietly, "We should take Master Jason to the Cave and run a few tests." the butler said, patting Bruce's muscled shoulder in a soothing manner 

"Sure, Alf. Let's go." he replied, gently picking Jason up.

As Bruce gingerly easied Jason’s still body onto the cot, Alfred immediately started running some tests.

"He has a quite severe case of mydriasis, poor." the butler stated, flashing Jason's eyes with a tiny flashlight. "I fear he may be concussed, and it looks... Not optimal." he stopped to think. "That must also be the cause of the nosebleed he has experienced earlier. Let's prepare Jason for a CAT scan, I want to have a good look at his skull."

"Can you run blood tests too? Just to be sure..." the father of the boy asked, worried. He nodded to Jason's too thin form, to the ribs timidly poking from under his pale skin, and Alfred winced. The butler then offered a genuine smile, nodding. "Of course, Master Bruce. Of course."

While he waited for the results, Bruce trimmed Jason's hair- he was going to be yelled at, probably, but it didn't matter now.- and disinfected the wound, skillfully sewing the skin back together after that, and wrapping a thick bandage around Jason's head. Then, changed the boy's clothes into something a bit more comfortable, making sure to tuck him well under the warm blanket, only leaving the left arm out, where Alfred inserted an I.V. drip, to pump some sugar and fluids into Jason's veins.

Bruce nearly jumped on the chair he was on- next to Jason- as Alfred announced the results of the blood test.

"I wonder how Jason managed to stand on his feet this long. He's severely malnourished, to put it simply." Alfred snarled, still keeping his composure. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Also, I am now certain that he does have a concussion. We should be thankful for his nosebleed," the butler said, "because the blood might have cracked his skull worse. Lucky lad!" he finished, sounding fully astounded.

Bruce looked at his son as if he were about to bream, who had stirred a couple of times but had not woken up yet.

"I swear, this boy is unbelievable." the old man whispered, adjusting the I.V. and the blanket.

"You can say that, Alf..."

Less than ten minutes later, Jason started to stir and regain conciousness, slowly, painfully aware of the agony. Every single part of him ached, and he felt like his head was about to explode, so heavy and currently unable to process the simplest thought. He really didn't feel like coming around yet.

"...ason?"

_Please, no._

"Do... hear... Jas...?"

_M'tired._

Somebody shook his shoulder, insistently, aggravating the nausea. He cringed, whining.

"Yes, he's definitely coming around. Master Jason, please open your eyes. We need you to." an old voice commanded, "Come on, lad."

"Son, wake up." Bruce coaxed. "Jay, you with us?" he repeated. That's when the boy swallowed slowly, and cracked a heavy eyelid open, moaning in pain and discomfort.

"S'loud..." he slurred, groggily.

Alfred smiled slightly, caressing the boy's forehead, "It's good to have you back. But, I am afraid I need to ask you some questions. Is it okay? Nice and easy."

Jason reluctantly nodded, even though he really didn't feel like answering to anyone at the moment.

"Can you tell me your name, age, and today's date, lad?" Jason stopped a second to think and to gather some strength.

"Jason, twen'one years old... And it's, huh... February. Dunno th'date." he groaned, thoughts mixing up uncomfortably inside of his aching skull. Bruce nodded, relieved.

"Do you still feel faint? And, on a scale of one to five, how would you rate your headache?"

"M'tired, bu' not 's much as b'fore," Jason replied, "and... F-five." he said, nose scrunching up as pangs of agony shot through his skull.

"Can you sit up at all, Master Jason? It'll be only for a moment, I promise." Alfred promted, gently.

The young vigilante nodded slowly, trying to get in a sitting position, as Bruce kindly helped him by putting his big, warm hand on his son's back. Jason turned his head slightly to thank his father, behind him, but stilled suddendly as black dots appear before his eyes, once again.

He must've fainted briefly, only for a couple of seconds, but enough for Bruce's grip to tighten dramatically on his shoulders, holding him upright as Jason's body sagged.

"Woah, buddy. Slowly." the billionaire instructed, a veil of worry in his tone.

"He's still too weak to be up. Lay him back down, please." Alfred asked Bruce, while adjusting the I.V. in the boy's arm.

"No. M'kay, s'fine." the boy intervened, lying, his tone desperate enough to let Bruce and Alfred glance at each other, worried.

_Lay me down and I'll puke._

Bruce stopped, "Do you... Do you know what happened?" he asked, hesitating.

"I p'ssed out?" Jason replied, "I think."

"Anything else before that?" Alfred demanded, "we would like to know if you remember the cause of this concussion of yours, lad."

Jason groaned again, hissing a tentative hand rising to his skull. "Got hit in th' head."

"How hard?" Bruce asked, not really wanting to know the answer, "and with what?"

"Hard... hard. With, huh, a pipe? Dunno. M'sorry, I'm..." Jason breathed out, each rasp more painful than the previous. Bruce cringed, hands at either sides of his head as he struggled to inhale, the pain in his skull mind-numbing, stomach twisting and knitting inside of him.

"Sir," Alfred captured the younger man's attention "I suggest we give him some painkillers and wait for him to be more cognizant and operative. He may only hurt himself worse like this and-"

"Alfie, m'fine..." Jason interrupted the butler, voice hoarse, "I j'st need t'go to... To... To b..." he choked. A loud, vile gag was torn from him. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably, and Jason bit on it to prevent anything from escaping his mouth, drawing a rivulet of blood.

_No. No puking. No puking. No. Fucking. Puking. Please, no. No no no no no-_

"It's okay, Jason. Let it all out." Bruce hissed sympathetically, quickly grabbing a bucket and putting it on Jason's lap, who immediatelly started retching, loudly.

"It was expected." Alfred said, with one hand on Jason's forehead, while Bruce held the boy's torso up.

"There, there, let it all out. You'll feel better later. Relax, you're okay..." Bruce coaxed, rubbing soothing circles on Jason's bent back, feeling the bony spine at the center of it.

"I hate th's...." Jason moaned, heaving again, the death grip on the bucket so tight that his knuckles were entirely white.

"Don't talk, it makes it worse. Just focus on brea-"

Another wave of sick made its way up Jason's throat and into the bucket, the acidic smell making everyone cringe discreetly. 

"It's going to be a very long night, I'm afraid." Alfred sighed. And he was absolutely right.

Almost two hours later, Jason had finally stopped throwing up, and had fallen asleep due to fatigue. After running a second scan, Alfred ascertained that the swelling in the young man's brain had lessened, and declared the small crisis over. Bruce never left his son's side, though.

-

Jason woke up in the early morning. Bruce was at his side, asleep on the uncomfortable-looking plastic chair, while the butler was probably up in the kitchen, making breakfast for the whole family.

The young man decided to get up, dragging the I.V. pole to help him stay on his feet, still weak.  
He went to the bathroom in the Cave, and looked at himself in the mirror. A white, thick bandage had been carefully wrapped around his head. It had been a while since he'd taken a good look at himself, so he let his eyes slide up and down his reflection. His face was a dirty mess, and a thin, reddish stubble had grown on his pale, sunken cheecks and chin. He chuckled as he noticed the new, terrible haircut- courtesy of Bruce, he was sure. Lively teal orbs now looked dull, glazed over, circled by heavy eyebags.

Jason sighed, not too loudly. "Man, I look like shit." He washed his face and hair, brushed his teeth and shaved, in order to look- no- to feel a bit more human.

"Still shitty, but better. Nice." he hummed, smiling at his reflection.

"I agree." someone behind him said, making him jump.

"Damn it, Bruce, you scared me!"

The man brushed it off, grabbing the boy's head to adjust the bandage, "How do you feel? Any nausea? Dizziness? Do you feel faint? Can you see fine?"

Jason got away from the grip, "I'm fine, thanks," he stopped, "Bruce, look-" he began, but got brutally interrupted.

"What you did is wrong, dangerous and stupid. You killed people and hid a possibly fatal injury. How can you claim to be 'responsible'?" the man said, exhasperated.

"Do we really have to do this now? My head's still fucked up." Jason asked, his eyes pleading.

"Yes, now." Bruce approached him, making his son shrink back and slightly cower. But, before Jason knew it, his father's arms where around him, squeezing him into a warm, tight hug.

"This doesn't mean that I forgive you. But... I am immensely glad that you are okay" the older man stated, not letting go of the boy.  
Jason blushed heavily, unable to hide it, "Bruce, you're choking me-" he said, hugging the man back, not as tightly, "But... Thank you very much. I, huh, I mean it."

The two separated slightly, "I'm glad that you helped me. You and Alfie, I mean," he swallowed, "I won't stop killing criminals, and I won't adopt your methods, but..." he stopped "man, this is hard."

Bruce smiled, "I know what you're trying to say. It may be hard, but I want you to know that it's not." he put his hand kn the boy's shoulder "I love you, son."

Jason smiled, looking down at his feet, timid. "Thank you... dad. I- I do too."

Just like that, he knew that everything was going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost a year ago 'cause I was bored and mad at DC Comics for making Bruce act like a child abuser >:(  
Let me know what you think of this, please!


End file.
